


Sanctuary

by diablo77



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cas and Meg have a kid, Case Fic, F/M, Just so many OCs y'all, Meg Masters in a Wheelchair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 11:06:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21506863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diablo77/pseuds/diablo77
Summary: There's something... odd about the new couple who've moved into the neighborhood, and their friendly but cautious neighbors are desperate to figure it out. Meanwhile Sam and Dean roll into an idyllic town to investigate a series of unexplained disappearances and find that the case involves a clash between Heaven and Hell and is already being investigated by Castiel and Meg, but they need the brothers' help to prove their innocence.Written for Megstiel Big Bang 2019. Thanks to MoonDrenchedShores for the beautiful artwork!
Relationships: Castiel/Meg Masters
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: Megstiel Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1




	2. Chapter 2

Mavis parts the heavy living room curtains to peer out at the neighboring walkway. “Gerald!” she hisses to her husband, who is absorbed in an old Western on their console TV and doesn’t stir. “There’s somebody over there at the old Tompkins place.”

There’s no moving van out front, just a battered pickup truck, but the couple moving up the path are sure acting like they own the place. It’s stood empty so long, Mavis was hoping someone would just come along and tear the old eyesore down, but these people must have bought it.

The man is tall, dark-haired, a bit rumpled and intense-looking. His tan trench coat hangs open over a suit that looks like he slept in it, his blue tie hanging loose and sloppy several inches below his rough-shaven throat. The woman is small, with long blonde hair and a very round face. She rides in a motorized wheelchair, and the man rests his hand between her shoulder blades at about the height where the small of her back would be if she were standing. It seems like the same kind of gesture of reassurance. Mavis sniffs. Sweet, but something about the young woman’s black leather jacket and boots, her sheer violet tank top, and the way she smirks up at the man while fingering something inside the pocket of her tight black jeans strikes Mavis as unsettling.

“Sure haven’t seen them around here before,” Mavis murmurs over her shoulder. “You reckon they’re our kind of people?”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Gerald grunts. “Come sit down and watch the rest of this before you miss any more. I don’t wanna have to keep catching you up.”

“You’ve got to stop playing with that thing.” Castiel frowns down at Meg in the dusty center of the empty living room that, like the rest of this house, will be theirs now – though they didn’t buy it so much as _commandeer_ it. “You’re going to arouse suspicion. We’re supposed be trying to be inconspicuous.”

Meg lifts an eyebrow. “I could put my hands in _your_ pockets and see what I arouse.” Castiel gives her a hard look. She sighs and slides the mean-looking knife out onto her lap. 

“How did you get Sam and Dean to give that to you, anyway?”

“You know me, Clarence. I’m very persuasive.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow. “You stole it, didn’t you?”

“I _borrowed_ it.” Meg hands the knift to him handle first, gingerly avoiding the anti-demon sigils etched into the blade. “We need it more than they do right now.”

“That might be true,” Castiel sighs as he tucks the knife into his coat’s inner pocket next to his angel blade. “Nevertheless, I don’t approve of stealing from our friends.”

“They’re your friends. They just tolerate me because we’re kind of a package deal these days.”

“They… like you…” Meg’s stare makes Castiel pause. “You’re growing on them.”

“Like a fungus.” Meg rolls away into a hallway that looks on the verge of collapse. “I guess stealing this dump is okay since it belongs to strangers, huh?”

“And because I can’t imagine who else would want it.” Castiel follows Meg to the hall, looking up at the rotting and cobwebbed beams above them.

“Lucky us.” Meg jerks her chin down the hall, indicating a row of closed doors. “You suppose one of these is a bedroom?”

The angel’s head tilts, his eyes narrowing into a squint. “We don’t sleep,” he says. 

“I had other activities in mind.”

Castiel’s brows knit tighter, then slowly relax as Meg’s meaning dawns on him. “Not right now,” he stammers, looking down. “We’ve got work to do.”

Before Meg can respond, the doorbell rings. Both of their backs stiffen. They approach the door slowly, Castiel drawing his blade as he walks. “Give me the knife,” Meg hisses. He slides it to her.

Weapons drawn, they press their shoulders together as Castiel cracks the door open a few inches. It’s not demons or angels standing on their doorstep, just a human woman with frosted blonde hair and a plate of cookies in her hands. “Hello?” the woman calls, peering into the crack. “I’m Debra! Your new neighbor!”

Castiel and Meg tuck the blades behind their backs and move back to let the door swing open the rest of the way.

Debra blinks a few times in rapid succession but recovers and extends the cookie plate. Castiel and Meg exchange a wary look; neither of them would be able to take the tray without using both hands. Debra looks between them expectantly. Finally, Castiel throws his blade down the hallway behind them and reaches for the cookies, coughing to cover the clatter of the blade hitting the floor.

Keeping the hand holding the hand holding the knife firmly pressed behind her back, Meg extends the other hand to Debra. “I’m Meg,” she says, and because Debra looks like she expects her to say more, she supplies, “Meg Masters,” even though Debra hasn’t offered _her_ last name and that seems a little rude to Meg. She tilts her head in Castiel’s direction and says, “That’s my husband Clarence… Masters.” Castiel’s brows furrow. Debra shakes Meg’s hand, and Meg notices her glancing at where a ring should be if Meg were actually married. “We’re non-traditional,” she says. Debra’s own brows raise, but she doesn’t comment.

“Well,” she finally says, releasing Meg’s hand and nodding at Castiel, who is holding the cookie platter with both hands and makes no motion to offer a hand to Debra. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” She cranes her neck to peer into the rooms behind them, but Meg and Castiel tighten the phalanx of their bodies to block her view. Meg elbows Castiel and he plasters an unnaturally bright smile across his face to match the one on hers. Finally Debra gives them a smile of her own – one that seems just as artificial as theirs, but nowhere near as enthusiastic – and leaves.

Meg glances sideways at Castiel, making sure he’s not looking, and slides the knife into the pocket of her jeans.

Castiel seems preoccupied. “Why did you give me your name?” he asks.

“Because you don’t have one, Feathers,” she says. “You said yourself, we’re trying to be _inconspicuous._ ” She draws out the word, teasing him. “You can’t just have one name here in East Sheepfuck. You’re not Beyonce.” Castiel startles. “Technically, it’s not even really mine,” Meg goes on. “I, uh, _borrowed_ that too.” She gives him that quirk of her brow that always makes him blush. He ducks his head.

Meg grabs a cookie off the plate. “You don’t want one?”

“Why would I want one? We don’t need to eat. I don’t understand why you persist in it.”

“I’m a demon. Indulgences of the flesh are kind of our thing.” She takes a bite of the cookie. “Peanut butter! My favorite.” Castiel perks up. “Yours too, right Clarence?” It’s the only thing besides pizza she’s ever seen him eat. When she’s asked him about it, all he said was that he was “nostalgic for that particular combination of molecules.”

“Sure you don’t want a taste?” Meg teases, waving the cookie in front of him. He doesn’t take it; instead, he drops the plate he’s been holding, scattering the rest of the cookies across the floor as he surges forward and knocks the half-eaten one out of Meg’s hand. “Hey! Maybe I was gonna eat those!” she yells, but she’s quickly silenced as Castiel pulls her into his arms and tastes that particular combination of molecules the way he prefers to: on her lips.

“So get this,” Sam Winchester says, looking up from his laptop to toss his brother a beer. Dean wedges the bottle under the edge of the table and pops off the top, taking a swig as he leans over Sam’s shoulder to look at the screen. “There’s a little town not too far from here called, uh, Safe Harbor.” Sam wrinkles his nose at the odd name. “A kid disappeared there last week. Sounds like it might be our kind of thing.”

Dean braces his arm on the table and leans closer. “A missing kid?” he says. “I mean, it’s sad, but why does it sound like _our_ kind of thing?”

“The neighbors say he was last seen in the same place where a bunch of animals went missing. Four dogs and two cats, all in the space of a month.”

“So? Animals run off all the time. That’s what we’re doing now, playing dogcatcher?”

“It’s _where_ they’re going missing from that makes this case interesting,” Sam says. “Some creepy old church. Some of the locals say it’s cursed.”

“Cursed?” Dean raises his eyebrows and takes another sip of his beer. “Sounds like it could be a witch thing. Better call Rowena.”

Sam nods. “Already did.”

Despite their meeting being halfway over, the members of Debra’s book club haven’t mentioned the book yet. That’s not entirely unusual, since book club is mostly just an excuse to drink wine and get away from their husbands. Since it’s Debra’s turn to host, her kids are “spending the day with Grandma” and her own husband is shuttered in the den with strict instructions not to emerge until the other ladies have left.

Debra pours herself another glass of rose. Tonight, she’s holding court for reasons other than playing hostess.

“So you didn’t see inside at all?” Beth asks, obviously disappointed. 

“Well, no…” Debra admits, setting her glass down on the coffee table, its red-lipsticked rim clashing with clashing with the pink wine inside it. “Not really. They seemed pretty… private. But what I did see was a little odd. They didn’t have any furniture. And it looked like they hadn’t even started to fix the place up!”

“They _just_ moved in, Deb,” Sharon laughs. “Give them time.”

Debra sighs and nods, picking up her glass again. “Ok, so, _Sense and Sensibility_ ,” she says. “Where were we?”

Her friends facing her all gasp at once. Debra thinks, at first, that she’s doing an excellent job of _selling_ the book. Then she realizes they’re all looking past her to the window behind her back. Slowly, she turns. In the otherwise dark windows of the new neighbors’ house, unearthly flashes of blue light and black smoke tangle together, zapping from room to room, building in intensity until a final painfully bright flash blows out the window glass.

Lying on the floor of what Meg has declared a bedroom, Meg and Castiel catch their breath as the energy of their true forms slips back into their bodies. As usual, they started in the bodies, but there’s just so much more they can _do_ without them. Meatsuit sex, Meg is fond of saying, is just foreplay.

“I’d say this house is officially christened,” Meg grins.

Castiel squints. “Do demons do christening?”

“Figure of speech, Clarence.”

“Well,” Castiel says, searching for his pants. “You have succeeded in distracting me.” He pauses as he buckles his belt. “As usual.”

“Come on, you know you enjoy it.” Meg begins gathering her own scattered clothes and pulling them on.

“Of course I do.” Castiel finds his shirt and slips an arm into a sleeve. “But we can’t forget, we’re at war.”

“Kind of hard to forget.” Meg props herself up on an elbow. “But if we go down, I’m going down with you. And we might as well have some fun on the way.”

He bends and kisses her. “We’re in this together,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “Remember that, okay? We live or we die _together_.”

Castiel nods. Meg slips her arms around his neck and he scoops her up and lifts her back into her chair. Around them, outside their windows, lights in the other houses are flicking off. The neighborhood is going to sleep, but for now, it’s a good thing Meg and Castiel don’t.

The Winchesters drove in shifts through the night like they always do when they need to get somewhere fast. Rowena offered to use a spell, but the brothers refused. She’s sulking in the back seat and the sky is fading from red to blue as the Impala glides to a stop in front of the overgrown church grounds across from the Safe Harbor town square.

Moments after they step out, Dean has to flatten his body against the driver’s-side door to avoid being sideswiped by a group of kids on bicycles. When he recovers, he notices what Sam has already spotted: the poster tacked to a nearby telephone pole, yellowing and curling up at the edges. 

“This the missing kid?” Dean says, pointing at the badly Xeroxed photo on the flier.

Sam nods. “Yep.”

“Hmm.” Dean’s forehead wrinkles. “Look a bit familiar to you?”

Sam stares at the blurry picture of a small dark-haired child with an intense expression. He gets what Dean is talking about, but he can’t put his finger on it. “Not really,” he says finally.

Leroy, Shorty, Dylan, and Viv race past the ghost church as fast as they can, holding heir breath collectively until they’re on the other side of the square. They hit the gravel at the far edge and rock their coaster brakes back, kicking up a wave of dust that ripples down the line of their bikes.

“I saw something move,” Shorty yelps. “When we passed by. I swear I did.”

The others eye him dubiously. Shorty’s nickname isn’t tongue-in-cheek – he’s barely over four feet tall – but the biggest thing on him is his mouth.

“You always see something,” Leroy says. “How come none of us ever see what you see?”

“Maybe ‘cause y’all ain’t lookin’.”

“Well, maybe if you kept your eyes on the road like the rest of us, you wouldn’t fall so much,” Viv shoots back.

“There you go again, being the mom friend.”

“I’m not the mom friend. Dylan’s the mom friend.” Viv’s eyes flash under her backwards baseball cap. “I don’t care if you get hurt.”

Dylan doesn’t protest. He supposes that being called the mom friend is one of those things, like his soft hands or his long thick eyelashes, that he should be ashamed of but he just isn’t. He actually does care if one of this friends gets hurt. He doesn’t say so in words, though. Instead, he says, “This is boring. Come on, let’s go throw stuff off the bridge.” Which, in the language of their group, means basically the same thing.

Debra straightens her Meals on Wheels uniform and rings the doorbell. The shuffling steps from inside the house are accompanied by the distinct muffled thump of a cane tip on thick carpet, and Debra’s stomach sinks in disappointment. That means it’s Gerald, who usually accepts her shrink-wrapped meals with little more than a grunt of vague appreciation. It’s his wife who always has the latest front-porch bulletin, and with her house situated right next to the strange new neighbors, she’s sure to have seen something.

Debra pastes on her brightest toothpaste-commercial smile as the door opens. The chain lock snaps after a few inches, leaving just enough room for one thick buggy lens of Gerald’s glasses to press into the crack. She hears him grumble and then the chain unhooks and the door swings wide enough for him to put his hands on the stack of aluminum food trays, but Debra isn’t letting go of them that easily.

“Nice to see you, Gerald!” she trills. “How are you feeling?” Gerald gives her another grunt without eye contact. She tries again. “How’s that leg doing?” He mutters something unintelligible, still gazing floorward. Debra huffs quietly in frustration, blowing her bangs out of her face, but Gerald doesn’t even seem to notice. “How’s Mavis?” she asks, her tone still sugary sweet but with a sharpness now, like a candy cane sucked to a point.

Gerald shuffles his way around to face the other direction. “Mavis!” he yells down the hallway. “Comp’ny.”

Debra relinquishes the food trays then, and Gerald shifts them into one arm, his other hand gripping the cane, and taps back off down the hall. He disappears into what Debra assumes must be the kitchen, though she’s never been that deep into their house. A few moments later, Mavis emerges to take his place.

“Hello, Mavis,” Debra says, doing her best to find her smile again. “How is everything?”

Mavis smiles slyly. She sees right through Debra, she always does, but she loves an audience. “Fine, fine,” she says, nodding her head in the direction of the porch swing over Debra’s shoulder. “Would you like to sit for a spell?”

Debra’s grin is genuine now. “I’d love to.”

Stealth, Meg grudgingly admits, is important. Her chair tends to set off cracks and pops as she runs over twigs and pebbles, and even if she could navigate around them flawlessly, the insistent whirr of the motor would give her away long before the Council could even see them. So, she’s resigned herself to traveling to the church in the manual chair, pushed by Castiel. In an odd way, it reminds her of their time in the hospital, when she would push him around the grounds in a chair like this until he got the strength back in his legs. Remembering that she once helped him makes it easier for Meg to give up control in this moment. While Castiel pushes the chair, Meg toys with the knife in her lap, watching the sun glint off its carved sigils. Own wheels or not, she’s going to be ready.

As the town square comes into view, Castiel suddenly stops. Meg looks up and groans when she sees what he must have seen: that familiar long black car parked right next to the bushes they need to sneak through. “Great,” she mutters. “The Hardy Boys are here.”

Most of the Council members’ disdain for each other is obvious, but cooperation in this matter is necessary.

Jophiel and Agramon, tasked with guarding the door to the room where the Council is keeping the child, break their stony silence toward each other when the incessant barking of a Boston terrier becomes, at last, too much to bear.

“Can’t we shut that thing up?” Agramon gripes. “I don’t understand why they wouldn’t just let us kill these dumb animals. Laying a trap doesn’t require keeping them alive.”

Jophiel keeps his eyes forward and his hands folded in front of him, but he gives a barely perceptible nod. “For once, you’ve said something I agree with,” he says. “Nonetheless, our orders come from above.” He cuts his eyes sideways at Agramon. “Or, in your case, _below_.”

Agramon sighs and twists a wrist. The dog gives out a whimper, and then pained silence as its tongue, newly divorced from its body, squirms in the palm of Agramon’s hand.

Leroy swings from the rusted trestle of the bridge, making Dylan nervous. Shorty is oblivious, lying on his stomach on the planks, tossing sticks down into the river. When they disappear under the bridge, he crawls on his elbows to the other side to watch them float back into view. Viv is carrying the heaviest rock she could lift, trying her best not to show how its weight makes her double over at the waist. “Hold this for me, Dyl,” she says, jutting her chin upward to Leroy’s perch. “Then pass it to me when I get up there.”

“No way!” Dylan says. “It’s not even safe to be up there, let alone holding something heavy!”

“I’m not gonna be _holding_ it, I’m gonna be _dropping_ it.”

“Nuh-uh. You’ll fall and die.”

Viv rolls her eyes. “I’m not gonna _die_. It’s only a ten-foot –” Viv stumbles, the heavy stone slipping through her straining fingers. It hits the splintering wood of the bridge where a hole has already begun rotting out of the planks and crashes through, landing with a splash big enough to soak their sneakers. “…Drop.”

“I still don’t know why y’all don’t believe me about what I saw at that creepy church,” Shorty says, resuming a stream of chatter he’s kept up since they got to the old bridge. “Y’all never believe me even though I’m always right.”

Leroy jumps down from the trestle, landing on the planks with a thud that makes them vibrate under everyone’s feet. “What exactly have you been right about?”

“I was right about that kid, the one who went missing. I told you she was weird. Told you it didn’t make sense for that old witchy lady to suddenly have a kid, and she goes to our school but doesn’t talk to anybody, and then all of a sudden, she just disappears. It’s all too weird to be a coincidence. And then! And then those super weird people move in right across the square from the church, into that old spooky house.” Shorty jumps to his feet. “Stuff like that doesn’t just happen here. It’s all gotta be connected.”

“He _is_ right about those people,” Viv says. “My mom says she went over there to bring them some cookies” – here she rolls her eyes again – “and they acted like complete freaks. Like they were hiding something. Plus, there’s always weird lights flashing in their house. And the lady smells like matches.” She screws up her nose. Shorty beams up at her triumphantly, and she side-eyes him. “Broken clocks,” she says.

“Well, I think we should go back over there and check it out,” Shorty says.

“What, so you can disappear too?” says Dylan.

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m not _gonna_ disappear, because I ain’t a weird freak kid who came out of nowhere in the first place.”

“I’m in,” says Viv.

Leroy nods. “Me too.”

Shorty looks back at Dylan. “You gonna stay there and be scared, or come with us?”

“…And be scared,” Viv adds, and they laugh.

Dylan sighs, chucks the last of the sticks over the side of the bridge, and stands to leave without turning to see if they come out on the other side or not.

“Apparently, Safe Harbor gets its name because it’s been designated as a sanctuary city ever since it was founded,” Sam says, reading from a guidebook in his hand as he follows Dean through the brush, Rowena trailing behind them in turn. “Makes sense, since it’s so far inland. It’s definitely not a harbor. Only water near here is a little river. But any kind of refugee who comes here has a kind of, uh, immunity.”

“Thanks, Lonely Planet,” Dean shoots back.

Sam ignores him. “What’s interesting is that it was once believed to be neutral ground between –” he closes and lowers the book, giving his brother a pointed look – “Heaven and Hell.”

“Oh.”

Rowena steps between them. “Really, boys, must we do this dance again?” she says. She waves her hands sarcastically in the air. “Wooo! Strange occurrence the Winchesters go to investigate has something to do with the spirit realms.” She drops her arms. “If it didn’t, we wouldn’t be here. Spare me.”

They turn back to the trail, which is a few branches away from emptying out into a clearing. The imposing church building is already in view between the leaves. As they break through, there is the unmistakable sound of a twig snapping somewhere else in the bushes. Rowena, who has shifted her position to lead of the pack, freezes in her tracks. “Don’t think we’re alone now,” she sings softly.

Deep in the woods on the outskirts of town, Gertie sits on the steps to her cabin, enjoying the few rays of sunlight that make it through the tree canopy. She watches how they cast patterns onto the leaves floating in her tea, following their movements without bothering to try too hard to read what they’re telling her. It’s mostly gone cold anyway, but she gulps it back and sets the empty mug next to the door, scratching Basil’s head as he lies next to her, tilting his face up to catch the warmth. She pats her knees and stands up, and the old greyhound follows her to his own feet.

It’s time for their daily walk, out past where people say they last saw her little girl. She misses the kid, in her own way; in her own way, she loved her. Besides, she made a promise to Meg the demon and her angel lover, and Gertie isn’t in the business of breaking promises. One of these days, there’s bound to be a sign she can work with. “Let’s get it moving,” she says, and the old dog’s bones find their stride to match hers as they make their way out of the woods.

On Mavis’s porch swing, Debra pats her carefully arranged hair and lets her thick-stockinged legs sway gently beneath her. She’s getting a little impatient, but Mavis is still making small talk. Debra wishes she’d dispense with the pleasantries and get to the dirt already.

“So how is that daughter of yours?” Mavis asks.

“Oh, you know. Still in that tomboy phase.” Debra shakes her head. “I want her to be more ladylike, but Roger encourages it. I think he just likes having someone to toss a football around with.”

“She’ll be all right,” Mavis says with a smile. “Watch her hanging around that Wallace boy, though. I hear things about that family.”

Debra nods, seeing her opening. “So, speaking of hearing things,” she says, internally wincing at the stretch but pushing forward, “have you heard anything about _them_?” She tilts her head in the direction of the old Tompkins house next door, which still looks creepy and abandoned. Who moves into a fixer-upper and then doesn’t bother to fix it up?

“Mr. and Mrs. Masters?” Debra nods. “Not much,” Mavis admits. “You know how word gets around in this town, but they’re staying closed up pretty tight. I seen ‘em around though, and they do act pretty peculiar from what I seen. In fact,” Mavis leans conspiratorially across the swing and lowers her voice, “a little earlier on, I saw them headin’ over towards that old church.” She points a crabbed finger in the direction of the hulking ruin across the square. “Now why a young couple like them would come into town and only hang around the buildings nobody wants? Gives me pause.”

“Exactly!” Debra exclaims. “And you know, they showed up right around the time all that weirdness started. How do we know they don’t have something to do with it?”

Mavis scrunches up her nose under her owly octagonal glasses, which, Debra notices for the first time with amusement, are actually rose-colored. “You really think so?” Mavis asks.

“Yes, I do!” Debra says emphatically. “That church is right where that little girl was seen last! You know, old crazy Gertie’s foster child or whatever she was, that strange little girl with the odd name. Everything _about_ that was so strange! She shows up, she disappears, and then we have these people move in who act like they’re from another planet. And they’re poking around the church grounds now? It’s all too strange to be coincidence.”

Mavis smiles and folds her hands in her lap. “You may be right,” she says. She peers through her glasses across the way at the church as a quartet of bicycles skid to a stop and clatter to the ground in front of it, followed by eight small sneaker-clad feet stomping their way into the brush.

Debra sees it too. Her own smile fading, she jumps to her feet. “Viviane!”

Guns drawn, Sam and Dean tiptoe around the edges of the bush. Dean silently gestures to his brother, and they split up to stand on either side of where whoever – or whatever – is sneaking through those branches will emerge. A moment later, the leaves part.

The first thing they see are the wheels. Then Sam’s eyes follow the familiar pair of black boots resting above the casters up to the face that rolls into view just after. His brow furrows. “Meg?”

She grins. “What’s up, Daddy Long-Legs?” Sam’s furrow deepens.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean groans when he sees who’s pushing the chair. “What are you two doing here? We thought we were on a hunt.”

“You were incorrect about that,” Castiel says. “ _We_ are on a hunt. In a manner of speaking.”

“What, so you’re hunters now? You and Meg?”

“In training, remember?” Castiel says. He looks down at Meg sitting next to him. “And anything that I am extends to Meg. We have a bond.”

“But why didn’t you call us for backup?” Sam asks.

“We didn’t want to bring you into this. It’s personal,” Meg says. She jerks her chin in Rowena’s direction. “Who’s Ginger Spice over there?”

Rowena, obviously taken aback, begins to open her mouth, but Dean speaks first. “That’s Rowena,” he says. “She’s Crowley’s mom.”

“She’s a witch,” Castiel supplies.

Meg looks sharply up at him. “You knew about this?”

Castiel nods. “We’ve met on a few occasions, yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry, Meg,” Castiel says. “Given your history with Crowley, I didn’t think that was wise at this juncture. You’re still healing.”

She grips the handle of the knife. “Yeah, well, next time the guy who killed me has a mom who’s working with your friends, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Oh, please.” Rowena waves her hand at Meg. “Put that little pig-sticker away. You’re not going to hurt me with it, and I’d rather we not embarrass ourselves.” With a sullen expression on her face, Meg slides the knife back into her pocket. “So, my son killed you, did he?” Meg nods. “Well, join the club. He tried to kill _me_ plenty of times. And vice versa, for what it’s worth. Though I can’t help noticing you look remarkably alive.”

“Cas pulled me out of the Empty,” Meg says. “Never told me how he did it, but I have my suspicions.”

“Call it a renegotiation of terms,” Castiel says.

“Well, anyway,” Rowena says, gesturing behind her at Sam and Dean, “if they know you and you’re still alive, clearly we’re all on the same side here.”

All their hands fly to their weapons as the bushes rustle again, but when the branches part this time, it happens much lower down. One by one, a quartet of prepubescent boys crawl through and stand up, dusting off their knees.

“You children shouldn’t be here,” Castiel says.

“Excuse me, who are you?” One of the kids demands, hands on hips, in a voice that reveals her to in fact be a girl.

Before the angel can answer, the branches are knocked forcefully to the side and two women – one middle-aged and one elderly – enter the clearing. The younger woman shouts, “Leave my daughter alone!”

The girl rolls her eyes. “Mom, nobody even touched me.”

“Sorry to break up the family reunion.” They all turn to the doors of the church, now open, and the two figures walking down its stone steps with a much smaller figure between them. 

“I’m not,” says the other one with a twisted grin.

Meg squints. “ _Agramon_? I can’t believe _you’re_ topside. Hell gave you a _mission_?” She laughs. “Do they still call you-”

“Speaking of family,” the demon on the stairs says quickly, cutting her off. They move to the side to reveal the smaller figure with them. It’s a little girl with dark hair and intense silver eyes.

“That’s the kid from the poster!” Dean says, pointing, at the exact moment that Castiel shouts, “Buffy!”

The brothers turn in Castiel’s direction, confused expressions on both of their faces. “ _Buffy?_ ” Dean asks.

“He wanted her to have a hunter name. He got it off Netflix.” Meg gives them a look that somehow carries notes of both exasperation and challenge.

“And Buffy is…” Sam asks.

Meg nods. “Our kid.”

There’s no more time for explanation. “Jophiel,” Castiel says in steely acknowledgment. “We’re here. What do you want with us? What–” he looks down and swallows before facing them again – “what do you want with our child?”

“You can have her.” Jophiel lets go of Buffy’s arm and the child stumbles down the last steps. She runs to Castiel, who sweeps her under his arm. “We didn’t come here to lure you,” Jophiel sneers. “ _You_ came here thinking you could keep your little abomination safe here. It was just a perfect opportunity.” He turns toward Sam and Dean. “Now, _you_ on the other hand…”

Dean looks at Sam. “What is he talking about?”

“Oh, come on,” says Agramon. “The missing animals? The creepy church? Do you think by now Heaven and Hell don’t both know exactly what type of thing pulls you two in?” He glances over at Jophiel. “Can I do it?”

Jophiel rolls his eyes. “Go on.”

Agramon snaps, and the church vanishes into mist. The animals run away in all directions. They’re standing in an empty clearing, two angels, two demons, a child who is somehow both. Two hunters. One witch. And…

“Sam. Dean.” Billie steps from where she stands behind them, where the church once stood, or seemed to stand. Her hands are bound in front of her by a thin shimmering line. “I am so sorry.”

“That’s right,” Agramon directs this at Meg, taunting. “They gave us the spells to bind Death.”

Meg’s jaw sets, her hands flying to the rims of her wheels. “You’re still–” 

Castiel flings out the arm that isn’t sheltering his daughter and stops Meg from rolling forward. She glares at him, but a strong look sends her a message, and she tucks her chin. Sam, watching this, nods at Castiel. It’s the same way he and Dean have always communicated without words. He understands.

“Of course they wouldn’t let the child live,” Jophiel says. “That kind of power? Heaven and Hell don’t agree on much. But that is one thing that can’t be allowed to exist.” Castiel pulls Buffy closer. “And the two of you? You’ve committed treason. Of course you knew the consequences.”

Castiel and Meg both solemnly nod. Sam steps toward them. “You knew this?”

“It’s why we came here,” Castiel says. “We thought we could hide Buffy here. We couldn’t run anymore. So we found someone to care for her… and we waited.”

Jophiel interrupts again, like an exasperated teacher. “Heaven and Hell,” he says loudly, “are tired of your interference.” This time, he’s clearly addressing Sam and Dean. “So we don’t care about the library, we don’t care about God’s plan. This ends here. You’re all going to die today.”

“ _All?_ ” Rowena exclaimed. “What did _I_ do?”

Agramon shrugs. “You’re with them.”

Billie moves forward, her scythe bound in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she says again.

Meg looks at Castiel. He nods, and guides Buffy toward Meg. The child climbs into her mother’s lap in the chair. Meg bends forward and whispers to into her ear. Castiel rests a hand on her back.

Buffy stretches a small hand forward. Her eyes slowly begin to glow brightly, not quite blue like an angel’s, but almost white like the tip of a flame. Still tied to her scythe with the cords of light, Billie turns, and in one quick swoop of her blade she reduces Jophiel and Agramon to dust. 

Meg continues to whisper to Buffy. The little girl nods, her face contorted in concentration, and her body lifts into the air, visible currents of energy humming through her. She turns her wrist and folds her fingers into a fist, and the light threads binding Billie unravel and fall away. Billie looks more shaken than any of them have seen her look, but she slowly catches her breath, steadies her scythe, and regains her composure. Buffy collapses back into Meg’s lap. Meg strokes the girl’s hair as she gasps until her own breath evens back out.

Along the edges of the hedge, the small gathered crowd of humans – about whom everyone has forgotten – stand gaping. In the commotion, they’ve been joined by a gray-haired woman with a dog. “Gertie!” Rowena says. “It’s been too long.”

The woman smiles. “It certainly has,” she says. “Still trying to get that new coven off the ground?”

“Oh, no…” Rowena smiles. “Though perhaps I could be persuaded to join forces…?”

“We’ll talk about it.” Gertie returns the smile. To Meg and Castiel, she says, “I take it my work here is done?”

Meg looks up at Castiel. “Where are we going to go?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “But she’s right. We’re a family. We belong together.” He looks over at Sam and Dean, who look almost as awestruck as the neighbors in this moment. “Some of the best people taught me that.”

“Ugh, barf,” says Buffy, and Meg grins and bumps her fist.

Fingering her knife, Meg eyes the people along the hedge. “I don’t know if we’re gonna be safe here,” she says. There’s a wavelength of fear she can feel running through those people, a shade too close to hostility.

The younger of the two women who came through together steps hesitantly forward. “Did that man… or whatever he was… say you were a demon?” she asks.

Meg nods.

“Like an actual demon. A from-Hell demon.”

She can’t figure out if the woman is asking a question this time, but Meg nods again.

“A day ago, I didn’t believe they were real. Now I’m not sure what to believe.” The woman’s voice quavers. “Are you one?”

“I am, yeah.”

The woman looks at Castiel. “And you. Are you a demon too?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I’m an angel of the Lord.”

Rowena sighs. “Let me make this simple,” she says. “Demon, angel,” – she points at Meg and Castiel – “witch,” – she gestures to her own chest – “Death,” – she points at Billie – “and two regular humans who ordinarily hunt little beasties like us.” She winks and gestures behind her at Sam and Dean.

The woman gestures too, in the direction of Buffy. “And this is… your child?”

Meg pulls her protectively closer. “Yes.”

“So… half angel, half demon? That’s why she could do all those awful things. That’s why those horrible people came to our town!” The woman’s voice is shaking with anger now instead of fear.

“She _saved_ your stupid town!” Meg reaches for her wheels again and again Castiel stops her.

They’re interrupted by the bushes parting one more time, this time slowly, accompanied by the tap of a cane on the ground. An old, bent man emerges, holding a badge.

The woman spins and faces him. “Gerald? I haven’t seen you out and about in–”

“I might be gettin’ on, but I’m still sheriff,” he says, “and this is still a sanctuary city.”

“But–”

“Deb,” he says pointedly. Then to Castiel and Meg he says, “We welcome all kind of people here. Always have.”

“Thanks, but we ain’t people,” says Meg.

“Well, whatever you are, you’re welcome here. And we’ll protect you, like we do all our citizens.”

“But Gerald!” Deb says. “What if more of those… whatever they were… come?”

“Then we’ll run ‘em out.” He gives her a hard look and she steps back, her expression finally resigned.

“Maybe we will stay,” Castiel says, looking at Meg, who nods up at him.

_“Maybe.”_

_ _ The kids come running up, talking excitedly over each other. “You _flew_!” the shortest one says to Buffy. “That was _awesome_!”

The girl in the backwards cap says, “You wanna come with us and throw stuff off the bridge?”

Buffy looks questioningly up at Meg. “Go on,” Meg says, smiling. Buffy hops down. The girl gives the same look back at Deb, who sighs, but nods. The five of them run off through the brush.

_ _ Billie, who has recovered by this point, extends her hand to Rowena. “Good to see you in better spirits,” she says. 

Rowena looks down, her lashes fluttering. “Well,” she says. “We all do what we can, don’t we, love?”

Billie nods. “We should meet under better circumstances some time. We’ve got a lot we could all talk about.” She glances over at Meg. “You, too.” 

Meg grins. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Did that three inches add up to anything?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I _knew_ it!”

Behind them, Dean clears his throat. “You coming with us, Rowena? Or are you all gonna stay behind and have a slumber party and talk about boys?”

“Rude,” Rowena whispers, leaning to hug Billie. She gives Meg an expectant look and Meg grins and leans in for her own embrace.

“Don’t be strangers,” Sam says to Castiel, giving a little wave to him and one to Meg before following his brother to the car. 

As the Impala’s engine fires up on the other side of the hedge, the ones who remain begin making their way to the edge of the clearing. The sun is setting. The kids can be heard shouting in the distance amid increasingly loud splashes. Deb says to Meg, “Maybe you can join my book club! We’re going to read _Little Women_ next…”

Meg laughs and reaches up behind her to rest her hand over Castiel’s on the handle of her chair. The twigs break under her wheels and the others’ feet, punctuating their fading voices as the branches close behind them and the clearing is finally still.


End file.
